


If Mimi Doolittle Was A Slasher

by tainry



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Dubious sources of lubrication, M/M, PWP, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 13:09:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6080583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tainry/pseuds/tainry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mimi improvises, Illya and Napoleon go along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A bit of in-episode AU fluff!

Napoleon crouched down next to Mimi and Illya. "Mimi, through no fault of yours, there're a group of people that're rather intent on killing us. Now, there's a young man outside - a guard - and I'd like you to get his attention." He stood, helping Mimi up as well, and guided her towards the door of their...cell. Napoleon didn't really want to speculate too closely on what this room was normally used for. "I want you to smile at him and be very, ah, charming...and very...helpless..."

Mimi stared at him as if he were speaking Javanese. "Me?"

Napoleon nodded and shooed her closer to the door.

"Me?" Mimi trembled, but reluctantly peered out the little barred window at the guard. They had to get out of this somehow or die. "M-Mr. Guard?" To her surprise, the man actually rose and, carefully picking his rifle off the table, approached the door.

"Yeah? Whaddyou want?"

"Um..." The moment was upon her, and Mimi faltered. 

Then a long-hidden propensity flowered within her mind, an idea to save them, now in the hour of need, an epiphany. Mimi clutched the bars of the window desperately. "Mister...you gotta let me out of here! These two... these two in here with me... they're... I don't like the way they're looking at each other; it's really weird!" She glanced back at Illya and Napoleon, who, while both out of sight of the guard, were nevertheless staring at Mimi. "I... I think they're...they're...*perverts* or something!"

The guard blinked at her and took a step back.

"P-Please!" Mimi looked over her shoulder again, then turned to the guard with wide eyes and open mouth. "Mister! They're *kissing*! Oh...oh no...that's so... I can't believe it... men don't...not with other men...do they?"

Suddenly the guard was back, trying to look through the window without getting too close. "Where are they?" he growled.

"Oh, god...they're over in the corner!" Mimi pounded on the door. "They're taking off their clothes! You have to let me out! Let me out!! I'm still a virgin, I'm not even supposed to *know* about freaky things like this!"

Napoleon and Illya obligingly scooted together into the corner impossible to see from the door. Napoleon nudged his partner and made a suggestive sighing noise. Illya made a face at Napoleon, glared at Mimi and moaned softly. 

Mimi shook the bars. "Help! Someone help! They're on the floor! No...no you can't...oh god, not in front of me! You can't do that in public!" The guard backed up again, leveling his gun at the door as if forgetting he had the key. 

Napoleon made rhythmic ah-ing sounds and rumpled his clothing loudly. He was about to lay hands on Illya to make him do the same, but Illya had the idea and ruffled his own feathers. It was an interesting performance, from two inches apart. Napoleon was getting rather warm. Illya had a peculiar light in his eyes.

The sweating guard fumbled in his pockets. Mimi pounded on the door again and kept hollering increasingly graphic descriptions. Illya cried out. The guard found the keys and rushed the lock. When the door slammed open, Napoleon went low, Illya went high and the guard...hit the floor and didn't get up. 

As Mimi led the charge out of the cell, Illya paused to run his finger up Napoleon's tie, ending the gesture with a little brush against Napoleon's chin. Napoleon ducked his head and growled. He pointed to Illya, then to himself, then hooked his thumb out the door. Illya grinned at him and followed Mimi.


	2. Dinner With Mimi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Illya and Napoleon join Mimi for a promised dinner. And have each other for dessert.

Mimi leaned wearily against the mailbox in front of the mortuary they had so recently escaped. She looked up at Solo with more coyness than she'd ever have thought was in her before. "So, it's settled then, Napoleon. Dinner at my house on Thursday night."  


Napoleon nodded emphatically, rolling forward onto his toes. "It would be, I'm sure, a rare and-"  


Mimi's attention had already shifted to the other agent. "Illya, you're coming on Friday, and no excuses, either."  


Napoleon blinked. "Him? What do you need him for?"  


Mimi beamed at them and came around the mailbox, gathering them in and putting her arms awkwardly around their shoulders. "Two of you? Wow! Wait till Mama gets a load of this!"  


I've created a monster, Napoleon thought.  


"Wait a minute," Mimi said. "What am I thinking? I have a better idea. Both of you, Saturday." Mama had Bingo Saturday nights...  


"Both of us?" Illya asked.  


"At the same time?" Napoleon added.  


"Mmmmyes," Mimi purred, giving their shoulders a squeeze.  


Napoleon pursed his lips and squinched up his eyebrows. "Uh...ahem, Mimi, I was just wondering...Where on earth did you get the, ah, idea for that little...diversion of yours back in the cell?"  


Mimi blushed. "Oh. That. Um, well, it's kind of hard to explain."  


Illya and Napoleon exchanged a look.  


"B-but you two did so well with it; I didn't think you minded...at all...uh...did you?"  


Napoleon cleared his throat. "Well, I make it my firm policy never to disappoint a lady if I can help it."  


"Oh." Mimi blushed again. Then she and Napoleon turned to a conspicuously silent Illya.  


Illya looked back at them. "Napoleon's policies are indeed very firm," he said.

~~~~~~~~

Saturday night.  


Napoleon brought the wine, Illya brought the flowers. Mimi met them at the door in a blue velvet dress. Dinner was Cantonese takeout - Mimi, to her mother's continuing dismay, had not yet grasped the fundamentals of cooking. Illya was happy with the quantity, Napoleon with the quality. Mimi made sure the two agents' chairs were close together opposite her at the table.  


The conversation turned, with a little guidance from Napoleon, to the one subject they all indubitably had in common - travel. Their longest journeys, the shortest hops, the best places, the worst hotels. Illya had to be diverted from expounding too much on the last.  


"Now, look, Illya," Napoleon said. "We've been in plenty of hotel rooms where we haven't been beaten up. Skopje, Macedonia... The Caribbean..."  


"There was a dead man in that one."  


"Well, yes, but-"  


Mimi dropped her fork.  


Illya set down his chopsticks and leaned far over to retrieve it. Napoleon watched interestedly, noting how this maneuver tightened the trousers over Illya's compact backside.  


"...Ahh, the Miyako in San Francisco, then. Calcutta - not the first time, but the second."  


"There was the one in Zurich," Illya admitted, handing Mimi her fork. "Where you were attacked, but I wasn't."  


"Yes, I remember. The affair at the St. Thomas Monastery. How about Beijing last year?"  


Illya chewed a pepper thoughtfully. "Yes, but I still think there have been more of the other sort, on balance."  


"I think you just don't talk about the nice times you have." Napoleon leaned in to glare at his partner. He caught a bare whiff of Illya's aftershave, warm amber, cool wood, a hint of musk that might simply be Illya himself. The subtlety of it invited one to come closer, for a deeper sniff. "But I notice how fond you are of Paris in general. And other places."  


Illya slurped up a noodle and licked the light oil off his lips with obvious enjoyment. "Are you going to eat those 1000 Year eggs or not?"  


"Paris. Kyoto. Zanzibar. Canberra. Istanbul. Copenhagen. Reykjavik. I think you even like it here in New York."  


"Mimi, would you like an egg?"  


"Uh, um, no thank you, Illya. I...don't like those very much. Or the snake. I can't believe you got stir fry snake."  


Illya grinned. "You know what they say about the Cantonese: They'll eat everything with wings, except airplanes, and everything with legs, except the table."  


"But snakes don't have either," Mimi said.  


"Boa constrictors-" Illya began.  


Napoleon cut him off. "I thought it was 'If its back faces heaven, you can eat it'. And quit changing the subject."  


"That's the traditional version. What subject? I thought we were talking about hotels."  


"You were going to say something about Boa constrictors." Mimi liked the way Illya and Napoleon argued. "More ginger sauce, either of you?"  


"Yes, thank you," they both said, reaching for the proffered little bowl in unison, nearly spilling it. Napoleon got a few drops splattered on his fingers - Illya got the bowl, but set it down neatly between them. Napoleon reached for his napkin, giving his thumb a quick lick just to see if Illya was watching.  


Illya cocked an inscrutable eyebrow and offered him a peanut out of the stir fry. "Boa constrictors have vestigial leg bones."  


Napoleon leaned over and took the peanut from between Illya's fingers with his mouth. Illya's top shirt button was undone, exposing the normally hidden base of his throat. "That snake you're eating wasn't a Boa, though."  


"I didn't say it was." Illya wiped his fingers on his napkin.  


"It's some creepy, eely type snake thing from who knows where."  


"Eels are a kind of fish."  


"I know that, Mr. Zoology. That's not what I meant. Eat your 1000 Year eggs, why don't you."  


Mimi giggled and dropped her fork again. This time Napoleon went after it, nudging Illya's knee aside in the process, and bumping his head on the edge of the table.  


"Are you sure you don't want to try chopsticks?" Illya eyed Mimi suspiciously. "Napoleon, you forgot Lianhua Shan."  


Mimi bounced in her chair. "Oh! I've been there! It's weird, but so beautiful. All the little pavilions and lotus ponds and things. Makes a lovely stroll, all green and shady."  


"I...Lia-what? Oh, the old quarry they turned into a garden or something. In Canton?" Napoleon handed Mimi her fork. Illya fed him a little pepper. "Whoa - hot! On your list of favorite places?" Napoleon loosened his tie.  


"Yes." Illya ate another pepper himself and undid the second button on his shirt.  


Napoleon observed keenly. "That girl you told me about, who taught you all those naughty words in Cantonese."  


"Xong Yu-Lun."  


"Uh huh. She's why Lianhua Shan's on your list, I suppose?"  


"Among other things."  


"I see. Well, Mimi, so you've been to China? What did you think of it?"  


"Um. Well, it's...very big." Mimi wanted them to argue more.  


"Noel Coward, in _Private Lives_." Napoleon grinned at Illya's surprised look. "And you think I never studied."  


"I never said that-"  


Mimi watched happily from the sidelines as they dove in again, polishing off the meal while they were at it. At last the evening and the wine ran down and her two gentlemen callers took their leave.  


"Hey, Napoleon, Illya?" Mimi held the door open, but partially blocked it with her body.  


"Yes?" In stereo.  


"I was wondering...I mean, isn't it traditional...? A...well, a goodnight, um, kiss...?"  


Napoleon took Mimi's left cheek, Illya her right. Somehow they managed not to bump ears. Mimi withdrew, blushing. "Actually...I meant... Oh, nevermind! Good night, fellas!"  


Napoleon tipped his head to one side.  


Illya rolled his eyes. "She means this." He pulled Napoleon in by the tie and kissed him gently on the mouth. Napoleon automatically slipped one hand about Illya's waist, and the other round the back of his head, slowly deepening the kiss as he pressed their bodies closer. But Illya disengaged, not roughly.  


"Behave, there's a lady present." He took Mimi's hand, bowed over it, then scampered down the front steps to the car, pointedly going around to the driver's side to wait for Napoleon.  


Napoleon looked from Illya to the breathless Mimi and back again. Mimi stopped biting her fingers and shooed him down the steps after his partner. "Go, Napoleon! Go!"  


Returning Mimi's dazzling smile, he went. 

~~~~~~~

"Napoleon."  


"Yes?"  


"I never told you everything about Lianhua Shan."  


"Oh?"  


"Xong Yu-Lun had an older brother. Xong Gui-Siu."  


"...Oh?"  


"He was an expert in the Hong Nan style of hand to hand fighting. I always thought it looked mostly like Kempo... He was very...graceful."  


"I see."  


The rest of the drive to their brownstone was very quiet. 

~~~~~~~~

"Would you like to come in for a toddy or something?"  


"Ahh...sure, Illya." They did this all the time, hung out at each other's apartments. No different tonight, right? Napoleon followed Illya into the small flat. IKEA poster boy, Illya. Not Napoleon's style, but it suited his partner. Neat, spare, clean lines. Functional. Colorful, fun, very modern. Good quality, relatively cheap.  


Illya draped his coat over a chair and headed for the mini-kitchen. Napoleon followed suit - adding his tie - and gave Illya just enough time to close the refrigerator door before pushing him up against the counter and kissing him.  


Illya put the lemon down and draped an arm about Napoleon's shoulders, stroking the older man's neck and returning the kiss with a concentrated sort of tenderness.  


Napoleon wasn't going to need that toddy. The skin of Illya's neck and shoulder was smooth and hot under Napoleon's lips. One by one, buttons were undone, making way for inquisitive tongue. Illya wriggled a bit to make it easier for Napoleon to pull his shirttails free. Muscular shoulders, lean torso, a glint of golden hair; Napoleon pushed the white cotton down, catching at the cuffs. His kisses headed south. Illya's fingers generated fire, undoing Napoleon's collar. Their breath was the loudest sound in the apartment.  


His shirt and undershirt were rapidly becoming stifling, but that realization was close enough to a rational thought it jarred Napoleon slightly out of his Illya-induced fog. He looked up into amused blue eyes. "Illya...I..." didn't mean to come in here and maul you first thing...  


"If you hadn't, I would have."  


Napoleon put his hands on Illya's hips and stood up. "Well, that's a relief."  


"Not yet it isn't."  


"Mmm, well, all in good time, tovarishch." Napoleon hooked his thumb in Illya's trouser waistband and pulled the young Russian along into the bedroom, flipping the light on in passing. He liked to see what he was feasting on, even when he already had the dishes home. Illya was well-fed and indulgent tonight.  


They held each other close, disrobing slowly, lingering over every button and zipper and kiss and long caress, each length of limb and sensitive digit appreciated and limned - silver and gold, both molten. Illya swept a foot and threw them onto the bed. It was a very firm mattress, but they laughed as they bounced, and suddenly tussled for position, arms and legs tangling, sweat mingling, hair in disarray. But hair in disarray begs for hands to run through it, soft and silky, short but sleek, ears nearby to fondle, too. Mouths and tongues engaged in friendly fire, sharing spit more directly than a schoolboy's sworn handshake. Bonds that give more than they take.  


More tussling. Napoleon was fascinated by the throat he'd been aching to kiss all evening, now assailable. The slenderness of Illya's waist and hips, the tensile strength of thighs and arms, and everything must be stroked and tasted. Delicious - hot Russian cooking. But Illya was busy carrying out his own reconnaissance mission, and that was terribly distracting.  


Napoleon changed his tactics - and found to his utter astonishment that Illya, if attacked in just the right way, was immensely ticklish. Illya flailed helplessly and howled with laughter, bright hair tossing. "Na - Napo - leon! Stop! You'll...wake the ...neighbors!"  


It was such a shock to hear that laughter Napoleon nearly did stop, but he knew a good thing when he had it by the ribs. Two naked men tickling on a bed - now where did all the pillows go? He only relented when Illya was red in the face, tears leaking, gasping for breath - this took some time. Illya of course retaliated; growling, and bouncing Napoleon unmercifully. Pouncing.  


Eventually they wore each other down. Napoleon lay flat on his back. Illya, propped up on one arm, lounged near his head, grinning. Napoleon looked over - how nice, that view. Convenient, to roll over and slip Illya's cock into his mouth. Illya gasped, but after a trembling moment, reached down to pet Napoleon's hair and shoulders. Napoleon let his fingers wander, encouraged by the sounds the Russian was making. Quiet sounds, but interesting. Illya spread his legs wider and lifted up a bit.  


Better access, and trust Illya to take angular momentum into account. Napoleon leaned in farther and nibbled up the underside of the shaft, rhythmically stroking with tongue and fingers. Illya's hand and breath stilled, the hand clenching on Napoleon's shoulder, breath caught behind lips pressed thin and bitten.  


Illya curled over and came like a thunderstorm in summer, sudden and hard, lightning and rain. Falling back to earth, on the bed, he lay there a moment, playing exhausted angel. Languorously he sat up again, deep-eyed, lips parted, to kiss Napoleon. Napoleon felt lightheaded just watching him.  


"Illy-mmmph..." Illya pushed him down on the bed, inexorable, breathing heat and flame like a dark gold dragon. Napoleon closed his eyes and let himself be engulfed. Illya traced lines of pale gold fire over his skin, shamanic patterns or alchemical symbols - brighter points in the rising blaze. Mouth to mouth, then Napoleon was left to drink the cooler air as Illya wound down his body. Illya licked then blew - Napoleon shivered, but tried to hold still; Illya's teeth were sharp, and settled around a very tender area just now. The heart of the sword, heart of fire, drawn out by the music of his cries.  


Critical mass...everything went white, including the roaring in his ears... 

~~~~~~~~

Warm. Safe.  


"Good morning!"  


No one should be that cheerful this early. Particularly not right up Napoleon's nose. He groaned and muttered into Illya's hair, pulling the Russian closer, refusing to open his eyes just yet. Illya chuckled but stayed snuggled.  


Safe. Warm.  


"When's breakfast?" An internal rumble punctuated the question.  


Napoleon groaned again. He opened his eyes, light poured in; they'd forgotten to pull the blinds closed. Blue eyes, affectionate and amused, gleamed at him. Rumpled Illya was very nice to wake up to, Napoleon had to admit, despite the earliness of the hour.  


"Shower first?" Napoleon suggested.  


Illya nibbled at the edge of the sheet. "Hrrm."  


"Hot water. Soapsuds."  


Illya gave the sheet one last good bite, then leapt for the bathroom. Not to be left behind, Napoleon opted for right behind, both of them taking care of a morning necessity while waiting for the hot water to bang through the pipes.  


Soaping each other up led to a free-for-all requiring great skill and concentration, not to mention strength, agility and uncanny balancing maneuvers, just to keep from slipping in the tub and bashing their heads on the tile. Reaching a certain point - meaning both kinds of hunger making sharp, physical demands - Napoleon disengaged with some reluctance from licking Illya's nipples. Turning around, he put one foot up on the edge of the tub and leaned against the wall, flexing his hips in what he hoped was an inviting rather than ridiculous manner.  


Illya made a nonverbal gurgling noise.  


"Please do," said Napoleon.  


Illya made another noise, somewhat more obviously interrogative. His eyes darted around the enclosure, considering the rather sparse array of condiments. He grabbed the conditioner and raised his eyebrows at Napoleon.  


"Yes," said Napoleon, biting his lips in anticipation. He so rarely had the opportunity to indulge in this secret pleasure - all the more enthralling given his partner this time. It was one of the things he [rather smugly] felt gave him so much sensitivity to the female psyche.  


Napoleon had expected a certain degree of fumbling around - that was normal, given the lack of sighting mechanisms on the equipment. But Illya's aim was...spectacular. Intercontinental, one might even say. Napoleon's resultant trajectory was certainly ballistic.  


They leaned against each other and the wall, catching their breath and randomly smooching now and then. But the gastric rumblings became more insistent. They toweled off and Illya put on a pair of jeans. Napoleon, faced with day-old clothing, opted for Illya's worn but comfortable terry robe, one size fits most. He'd worn worse.  


Illya, motivated, busied himself in the kitchenette. Once he'd twigged to the fact that cooking and chemistry were related venues, he managed quite well. Napoleon just wished he wouldn't keep referring to the salt as sodium chloride.  


"Kasha," Illya announced, setting two steaming bowls on the little table.  


Napoleon smiled. "I hate to admit it, but I like this stuff."  


"Do you want currants in it this time?"  


"Raisins, yes, thank you."  


Illya peered at the sunny red box he pulled from the cupboard. "Raisins. Hmph."  


By Illya's second bowl they were spoon-feeding each other, and if they were messy about it, it only meant more licking - no objection. Tea, kasha, toast as an afterthought, since crumbs had to be sought out and nibbled up. Breakfast moved from the table to the floor. Both chairs got knocked over. Illya wished he had thought to put some music on, but they found a satisfying rhythm anyway.  


Napoleon, mouth free for the moment, looked up and wondered. "We never did find out where Mimi got that idea about us..."


End file.
